The Countdown
by RuthieGreen
Summary: So...what would happen if Station House No. 4 had only an hour to solve a dastardly crime before all the evidence goes up in smoke? A little quick bit of fluff and a big thank you to some of my MM friends.
1. Chapter 1

**The Countdown**

… _For Lovemondays & J_

 **Chapter One**

"...Why is the word for _abbreviation_ so long?"

"Come again?" Henry Higgins asked, looking up at George Crabtree from the report he was trying to avoid reading, thinking that his workmate was already in a rare mood for it being so early in the morning. The station house's bull pen was quiet, just the two of them waiting for the rest of the men to report in. The Inspector was in his office on the telephone and Detective Murdoch already occupied his desk on the other side, leaving the two constables to their own devices before morning inspection at eight o'clock, an hour away.

George had a newspaper open, peering hard at the typeface. "Well, as you know, I have been enjoying increasing my vocabulary… but really some words are just so odd. Why, here's another one, _pauciloquent_. Four whole syllables meaning to speak with few words. _Five_ syllables for abbreviation…seems to defeat the purpose, don't you think?"

Henry could not resist a snide comment. "Why are you reading the personals, George? Or is it the agony column today?"

George huffed at the slight. "I take creative inspiration where ever I can, that is part of the writer's process. Some of these stories are quite heart-tugging." He rustled the pages. "However, people are trying so hard to save money on these little announcements by abbreviating their message, that some of them are nearly unintelligible."

"There is _another_ two-bit word…"

"I mean, if you are looking for someone, why an advertisement?" George complained. "And if you do, why…why _obfuscate_ the message?"

"Don't ask me, George…." Henry mumbled this next part, but not quietly enough: "Those days are behind me…"

"You never _had_ those days, Henry," George quipped right back, "but certainly your upcoming nuptials will suffice…"

Henry pulled the paper aside, a sly grin on his mouth. "You are exactly right about that, George. I am marrying the most wonderful woman in the world. I suppose _you_ still need some assistance in _that_ department. When you are done with the personals, you can look at the notice on page twelve about custom suits for said nuptials, one of which you will need to be measured for, since you are standing up for me. Then, perhaps as the best man in my wedding, you will meet a lovely young lady of quality. I am thinking one of Ruth's bridesmaids for instance." Henry slid his gaze sideways. "She has all eight of her female cousins lined up; one of them, surely could take a shine to you…" Henry's own eyes glistened in anticipation.

"We'll see about that," George scowled, trying not to shudder at the thought of eight more Newsome women. "But Henry! Look at this one: a man searching for his sister who apparently just walked away from her grocery shopping; this is from a woman seeking her uncle who never came back from Church. Both in the last week. There seem to be more of them in the personals than usual…um…not that I have actually been looking of course."

Henry placated his friend. "Of course, George, of course… but that is a rather morbid preoccupation, vicariously indulging in other people's tragedies." Henry said ' _vicariously'_ with a flourish. "Give me the paper and I'll find you something more _edifying_." Henry could trade vocabulary-one-upmanship all day if that's what it took to get George going.

George snatched the pages back. "No, Henry! I tell you people have gone missing. You recall those two recent cases: Joshua Herkimer who stole from his employer and went and vanished on Tuesday; the corpse of Arnold Ferris we could not find after Sunday's fire? Even detective Murdoch thought that was odd. "

Henry snorted. "Well, people walk away for more than one reason. Skipping out on their rent, more like it…or their wife." Henry snuck an uncomfortable glance into the detective's office. "Besides, a thief does not wait around to be caught, an arsonist does not usually get burned up in his own fire."

"But this is unusual. Healthy men and women are gone without a trace. I have counted up **six,** one a day for the last week, and it is usually not that many for a whole month…"

Henry rolled his eyes at Inspector Brackenreid, who joined the pair. Before Henry could stop his fellow constable from embarrassing himself, George launched at their boss.

"Inspector, have you seen the unusual number of advertisements for missing people?" George's voice rose as he stood excitedly. "Corpses gone from crime scenes? It's a veritable epidemic, sir. A catastrophe!"

"Here now! What's this nonsense?" Brackenreid took the glasses off his nose and pointed them at the two constables.

Henry tried again. "Sir! I am sure there is a logical explanation—"

"Yes! Henry. Sir: the obvious explanation is…is - _cannibals!"_

Henry and the inspector looked at each other, dumbfounded. _"What…?"_ Henry sputtered first.

"It is well known that ground-up and powdered mummy is an ingredient of some medicines. It's why there is a thriving business in Egyptian tomb robbing. It's supposed to be a cure-all for what ails you."

The inspector shifted his eyes and dropped his voice. "Don't let Doctor Ogden hear you say that!"

Henry started laughing. "In Toronto? Someone is taking live people to turn them into mummies? Why not just take the dead ones?" Henry said reasonably. "You read too many of your own stories, George. That's why I don't read anything now but _The Times._ "Henry actually sniffed, presuming everyone knew there was really only one _Times_ newspaper of any import to refined individuals, which was, of course, the London _Times_.

The inspector snorted. "So! You get news that is a week old and an ocean away. What good does that do you?" Brackenreid dismissed one constable and turned on the other. "And you: cannibalism? Of all the happy-dafty ideas…"

"Sir! What if someone is hunting us down? After all we have no corpses," George insisted. "Nothing to indicate a sequential killer. I attended a lecture just last month from an adventurer in South America, Brazil I believe in the deepest Amazon jungle, who documented cannibalism. Perhaps a tribal member has migrated north, expanded their territory to Canada!"

Brackenreid's eyes bulged for a moment before he laughed. As imaginative as Crabtree was, this seemed more like something that Higgins would have cooked up. He called loudly over to the other office for his detective. "Murdoch! We have a body. Better get it before someone eats it!"

"Sir?" Murdoch stuck he head out of his door just in time to hear the last statement, looking alarmed.

The inspector shook his head, chortling. "The early bird gets the worm, gentlemen. That's what _you_ get for being called in last night by the detective here and deciding to stay for your official shift so you can get overtime. Higgins," he ordered, "Go fetch Dr. Ogden, will you? Crabtree, you and Murdoch are off to Wellington Street. A body's been found in a building that's coming down just before ten this morning. Better get a move on, because the mayor and the city controller says that nothing will stop your crime scene from being blown up."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

William adjusted his hat in the small confines of the police cab, not sure how to escape George nattering on about his latest theory. Changing the subject, pointing out flaws in the constable's theory and skeptical inquiry were incapable of derailing George's enthusiasm for suspicious disappearances. Fortunately the address on Wellington Street was not too far away, so while praying the traffic would move swiftly, he decided the best thing to do was sit back and let George expound on his 'evidence'.

Which George did… _at length._ William tried not to sigh, wishing for the sixth time he'd opted for bicycles, except that all his equipment would not have fit on two-wheeled conveyances. He tried one more time to wrap it up. "You assert that these specific six individuals have been taken in the last week, by a cannibal, and eaten?" William did not hide the doubt in his voice. "That's your _best_ explanation for a series of random disappearances, which might not even be foul play, without a body showing up? After only seven days?"

"One a day." George nodded then paused, his hand over his mouth as a new idea struck him. "Oh my God! I wonder how many people that would feed? Perhaps it is a whole _tribe_ of them sir! At one hundred to one hundred fifty pounds per body, minus the bones and gristly parts, and at a half pound of meat per person that's…"

William automatically calculated the answer, then bolted out of the cab before it came to a full stop to forestall answering. "We're here!" he shouted unnecessarily, trying to get the visual images from George's fevered imagination out of his head. He surveyed the scene to get focused. The building in question was surrounded by a rope to keep people at least a block away. A few onlookers with nothing better to do were already assembled to see the spectacle of a large building being brought down by explosion. Across the street, a knot of workmen milled around a wagon, being berated by a tall man dressed in frock coat and high hat. William was annoyed that Julia and the morgue wagon somehow got to the location before his own cab did, wondering what route they took.

"George, bring the camera equipment, will you?" William pushed his way under the rope to Constable Burke who was keeping order. "What have you, constable?"

"Sir. This building is being torn down to renovate the entire block. That is the developer over there, a Mister Oliver Fordhook, haranguing the work crew. He and one of the current owners, Mr. Angus Longmeadow, have expressed to me the urgency of taking care of our business. " Burke waved a beckoning hand over towards the wagon. "Early this morning Mr. Cobb, the demolition foreman and Mr. Blanken the night watchman performed a final walk through of the structure and discovered a body. It is lying on the second floor and looks to me like the man fell through from the third floor."

"Do we have any identification?"

"No sir…er you'll see why when you get there."

"Who is tending to the body?" William asked, counting the officers on the street and frowning. He saw Julia and her attendants were being blocked from getting any closer.

"No one a' th' moment." William turned to see a stocky man speaking in a lilting brogue. "I canna allow it. I'm the engineer here. T' whole building has been set with dynamite; 'tis not safe."

William opened his jacket to show his badge. "Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary. And you are?"

"Andrew Cobb," he offered his hand with his name. "I set the explosives m'self. Me' boys and I have strategically weakened the building so it will come down on itself with not so much as a wee stone fallin' outside the sidewalk."

"Mr. Cobb, the constabulary must be allowed to proceed with our investigation," William replied, introducing Julia as the city coroner as she steamed over, having broken through the lines.

The engineer frowned at the idea of a woman entering the building. "I understand, detective, ma'am, but the whole structural integrity has been undermined, the walls and support beams weakened. On top of that we have several hundred pounds of dynamite in there. Only the smallest number of people should be risked for the shortest time possible." Cobb was adamant, only very reluctantly allowing William, George and the stretcher-bearers to fetch the body.

Julia was equally stubborn about being allowed to see the body _in situ._ "Mr. Cobb, since we are wasting precious minutes arguing, I must insist that I be allowed to do my job!"

William was half-certain the standoff was not going to be resolved in the engineers favour (William's vast experience with his wife being what it was), when Cobb exhaled roughly and threw his hands up. "If you're a-goin' in there it'll be with me."

Cobb was careful and precise in guiding Julia and her attendants to the body and then William and George up to the third floor where the presumed accident occurred, as evidenced by a gaping hole in the floor which sagged under its own weight, then down one flight to where the man lay. George positioned the camera for photographs before anything was moved. "Looks to me like the poor sod stepped wrong and the floor gave way underneath, bringing a weakened joist down with him."

William examined what he could see. The victim was face down, debris littered over him and his entire skull was crushed by a huge, squared off timber, making William suspicious that identification by facial features was going to be impossible.

"Can you lift that beam off him?" Julia requested.

After taking photographs, George and both morgue attendants heaved the beam completely aside. The victim's head was obliterated, completely detached from the spine. His clothing was not new, but serviceable and suited for milder weather with the jacket wrapped tightly underneath him as if he had been protecting himself from the cold. William did not wish to turn the body over, so he investigated the trouser pockets he had access to, coming up with a few coins, but no papers.

William apologized to Mr. Cobb about the gruesome sight, then asked for the man's help. "Do you know who he is? Perhaps you recognize his clothing, or his hair or build? He seems to be dressed as a workman. Are you missing anyone in your crew?"

"Nay. All me' men are accounted for. The landlord evicted the last of the tenants just yesterday and we had to shake a few squatters out of the building while we were workin' on her." He peered at the human-sized mess at his feet. "His boots is old but sturdy, that red jacket is something… I don' recognize him, but meh'be one of the laddies does, or Blanken." Cobb pulled a watch out of his pocket and scanned the room. "I'd suggest you move along now. This'll all be rubble by nine forty-five as our permit to hold up the trolley expires at ten, sharp."

William turned to his wife, examining the wooden beam and other construction material carefully. "May I have your observations, doctor?"

"Of course, detective. Our victim appears, at first glance, to have died from massive blunt force trauma," she stated the obvious as she looked up into the hole above her, then knelt next to the prone man. "The fall might not have killed him unless he broke his neck, but I'd say that beam did the job for sure. He would have died instantly." She made a face, poking at the body. "It's odd, though," she said. "He's cold and pliable. I suppose it could have gotten frigid here last night, which is why, presumably, he tried to take shelter in here; that would mean he's been dead only a few hours."

"Which makes sense, since this building has been regularly patrolled, according to the engineer." William acknowledged George snapping the shutter on another camera angle. "Thank you, constable."

Julia bent down again to move the man's limbs, pulling his clothing up to expose his arm and get a better look at the skin. "I will give a closer examination at the morgue then I will let you know my findings."

Standing, she looked at the shell of a building around her. "May I take the body now, and collect the skull fragments?"

"Yes, thank you. Please check his clothing and effects for any indication of identity or where he's from. I will finish the interviews and look at the rest of the physical evidence. George, after you complete those photographs, get a final one of the body, one of the, um…head before it is picked up. I will send Henry up to help the attendants get all the pieces."

She put a hand on her hip. "Perhaps a wide, flat shovel…?"

William grimaced quickly before covering with a cough. "Of course, doctor."

Julia offered a knowing grin then took her husband aside. "William, I understand all your evidence is going to vanish with a bang. Too bad I have to go, I'd love to see it come down….it's sounds quite thrilling!"

William admitted as much himself, checking his watch. "Unfortunately, we don't have much time. Mr. Cobb, the demolitions engineer, is quite proud of how the building was prepared for demolition and promises it will be quite the event. _'Better than Dominion Day'_ Mr. Cobb promised."

-.-.-.-.-.-.

While Julia supervised the corpse's removal, William made his way down to the street where a larger crowd had gathered behind the ropes. He asked Henry and another constable to begin taking statements from potential witnesses. William approached Mr. Blanken who was in consultation with two men, the developer Mr. Fordhook and another man he took to be the new owner, Angus Longmeadow. William introduced himself, receiving an elaborate earful of complaint, about which an enterprising journalist from _The Gazette_ was scribbling notes. William absorbed the onslaught until it was clear it was going nowhere useful.

"Mr. Longmeadow, Mr. Fordhook! _Gentlemen!_ As you say, there is only a very short window of time, so if you do not wish to have your permit run out, you will allow me my questions," William's logic got the two bickering men to stop talking long enough to ask about identifying the dead man. "Mr. Blanken, did you recognize the victim?"

"Of course not! He had no _head!_ " As Blanken said that, Fordhook and Longmeadow both blanched.

"How about his clothing? He had a rather distinctive red shirt. I believe you encountered the occasional vagrant when performing your duties…or could it have been the man you evicted?" William consulted his notes, "Mr. Edgar Brown? I understand you were very familiar with him." Blanken seemed reluctant to talk in front of his bosses. "Tick-tock," William nudged. "Mr. Cobb told me about the sabotage, and booby-traps being set to delay the project."

Mr. Fordhook exploded. "And a damn lot of good the constabulary did arresting the perpetrators! I just know Brown's been behind the whole thing."

"He even got a solicitor to try and stop the eviction and demolition," Mr. Longmeadow spoke up. "Almost queered the deal, talking about his rights, if you can imagine! Well, my brother and I have a right to do whatever we want with our property. I was never so glad to be rid of a pestering lawyer."

"That shyster of his got us cornered into bringing this building down, today or never! Mr. Blanken, tell me that's Brown up there, snuck back in just to get my goat." Fordhook actually harrumphed. "When Brown's legal gambit did not work I always suspected he was the one who set the booby-traps. We had to have two constables remove him yesterday, detective, hollering and threatening the whole way. Blanken, was that bastard up there Brown, finally getting his comeuppance?"

"N…n…no sir. I don't think so," Blanken shook his head, explaining. "I didn't recognize him, detective, he did not seem familiar at all."

"I see. Gentlemen, If you don't mind, I'd like a list of the names of anyone who opposed this project, and of all those who were caught trespassing." William got another grunt from Fordhook. "Mr. Longmeadow, do you or your brother have any other information about the sabotage of this building, or who the victim might be?"

"No, detective, I do not. My brother, Ulrick, was the one who made our complaints to the Constabulary and represented us in court. As he also had the most contact with our solicitor, he may have more to add." Longmeadow looked uncomfortable. "Ulrick should be here for the demolition, I don't know why he is not here yet."

William paused for a moment, pulling together everything he'd heard so far, his mind doing the calculations. "Thank you, Mr. Longmeadow. I will speak with your brother later, if I may. Meanwhile, Mr. Blanken, may I talk with you a moment?"

William pulled the night watchman aside, dropping his voice so that they could not be overheard. "This building was prepared yesterday, and this morning the explosives were set, according to Mr. Cobb. You were supposed to secure the building, patrol inside and out to make sure there were no problems, no accidents and no trespassers." William got a series of head bobs in agreement, just as he hoped, setting up the next and most important question:

"Then, how is it that there was opportunity for someone to enter the building and have a great fall, all without you knowing about it?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..

"Sir! You must come here and see this!"

Constable Crabtree's excited call echoed up the stairwell to where William was finishing scouring the third floor for evidence. After securing Mr. Blanken's cooperation and placing him in the custody of Constable Burke, William returned to the building in a race against the clock to complete a physical examination of the scene before it all went down in a heap. He had the purported cause of death (blunt force trauma), and a window for time of death (from two to six in the morning, now that Mr. Blanken confessed to having a surprise assignation with his lady last night) leaving it more than possible for someone to have entered the building without being seen or heard. The manner of death (accident, misadventure or murder) was yet to be determined.

"If it is not evidence relevant to _this_ investigation then I don't have the time, George, and neither do you!" William was immediately sorry he'd let his annoyance show. _But really, at the moment George is so distracted as to be nearly useless as Henry_ , he thought uncharitably. William hated to be rushed so he was feeling irritable at having to take short cuts. He ground his teeth in memory: the last time he was in this sort of position there was a bomb about to go off on a ship in the middle of Lake Ontario.

 _Well… another explosion_ _ **is**_ _going off, whether I am ready or not._

Brushing dust off his hands, William told himself that there was nothing more he was going to find there. Any germane foot prints or drag marks could not be sorted out from the effects of the demolition crew. He went downstairs to look more closely at the beam which pulverized the victim's skull. There was as much rubble here as anywhere, the workmen not being very gentle when they stripped the place of anything salvageable including the copper wires, windows, and fixtures. William used his magnifying glass: tool marks showed where the wood had been sawn through, but was there something else, anything else, to indicate the beam had been deliberately brought down to kill a man? Stepping carefully to avoid a puddle of gore, he reached out to turn a board over when George's voice startled him.

"Sir! You have to come down stairs and see what I found." George nearly tugged the detective's sleeve to get his attention.

"George! I _must_ insist…"

"No, sir. _I_ must insist. You are going to want to see this." George's chest was heaving from running up the stairs.

William exhaled in exasperation. "Have you taken care of this floor as I asked?"

"Yes sir! I have photographed every square inch of this place. And..." he forestalled the next objection, "the entire beam. There is no more evidence to be gathered from the scene. This whole building is coming down in 60 minutes. But I discovered Mr. Brown's rooms, sir; we have an hour and you have to appreciate them." Seeing a skeptical look on the detective's face, George gave his most tantalizing clue: "It looks like the lair of a mad genius."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"See what I mean, sir?"

"Indeed…"

George and William stood gaping at the objects jammed in a dark, cluttered pair of rooms: shelves, cabinets, desks, a steamer trunk, tables, a chalk board and a workbench competed for floor space. Light seeped through in slanted stripes from between boards on the windows, accentuating dust wafting in the air. Both men stepped inside, moving carefully between the furnishings. William registered the vague smell of solder and various chemicals, but what drew his attention were a series of apparatuses, devices and little vignettes placed on each flat surface. His gaze quickly evaluated the evidence.

"It seems Edgar Brown was some sort of tinkerer; however, none of these is an invention per se, at least not one I can understand."

"But it does explain why he was so reluctant to vacate: he did not want to leave all this behind!" George waved his hand broadly around the room. "What was he up to sir?"

William was absorbed by a series of glass beakers set in a tray which contained a tangle of other glassware and tubing. He picked up one of the chemical bottles to read the label then put it back down. "Dr. Ogden is the better chemist, but… Ah…" He turned the valve, releasing one liquid into another, then swirled the solutions together; when he did the beaker turned a bright blue.

"How did you do that?" George's curiosity was piqued. "Both of those looked like plain, clear water."

"A simple chemical reaction." He almost started to lecture, then realized it was irrelevant. "I have no idea why it is here, all ready to go." He frowned, waving at the glassware. "One does not need such an overblown array; any child can do this." He eye was caught by another tableau on a work-bench across the room, which sported a nest of wires connected to several batteries, powering a simple Edison bulb. William walked over to it, past the chalk board which had writing on both sides. William glanced at them on the way past; he expected scientific formulae or schematics, instead it was a simple outline of a balanced polyhedron on one side and on the other appeared rather simplistic word games of the sort that were published in the _Gazette_ and about which Henry and George constantly argued. He examined the bulb, flipping a switch and noticing the circuit did not complete.

"George, you are certain these are Edgar Brown's rooms?"

"Yes. He was a bit peculiar, according to the owner; 'eccentric' was the word Mr. Longmeadow used. Mr. Brown insisted on these rooms and these rooms only. He was always here, coming and going all hours, never let anyone else in. He wanted to be on this floor with windows at street level, going so far as to pay off the previous occupant and sign a two-year contract." George flipped a page up in his notebook standing next to the trunk in the center of the floor which had three locks on the lid, to finish his recitation. "Hisis rental agreement was the basis of Mr. Brown's legal argument against the Longmeadow brothers and Mr. Fordhook, complaining that evicting him broke his lease. He refused all compensation."

William turned to examine the trunk and fiddle with the sturdy locks, dropping one against the side of the trunk with a clunk. " _Open only with keys or the contents will perish._ That is quite overly dramatic. _"_ When he tried to shove the trunk aside, it would not budge.

George shrugged and pointed at the trunk. "Looks like he did not want anyone to get inside there. If it's so important, I wonder why he did not take it or any of his other belongings…it does not make any sense. What do you make of it?"

William shook his head and surveyed the room again, intrigued by what he saw. "I am not sure Mr. Brown is a mad genius as you suggested, George. These devices and experiments he has laid out _are_ curious, but perhaps he is merely mad." He stepped over to the chalk board. There were two questions written on one side. Without thinking, he picked up chalk and went to finish the first. "The ' _Feathered tribe which can lift the heaviest weight.._.'"

"Oh! That would be a crane," George offered, with a quirk of his mouth, just as William was writing. "I quite enjoy word games."

"Very good, George…" he praised. "I always thought you were better at this than Henry."

"Best not say so…" George winked. "Well, I have been expanding my wordsmithing. By the way, I am thinking of publishing my own Anagram word game, based on how you had Henry solve that Black Bart pirate map business…but instead of letters on wooden blocks for children, I will have the letters on small clay tiles. I already have a name, I will call it 'Scramble.'" When he did not get a rise out of the detective he went on to work out the next puzzle. "This one though, is a head-cracker: _'Who killed the greatest number of chickens?_ ' Mr. Brown seems awfully obsessed with birds, doesn't he?" George was rather put out that his discovery of Brown's rooms was not very exciting after all, settling a hip dejectedly on the trunk lid.

William smiled. "As a writer, I should think you would study the greatest of all English writers: _William Shakespeare!_ The answer is 'Claudius'. In Shakespeare's _Hamlet,_ the ghost of Hamlet's father explains that Hamlet's uncle, Claudius…"

"Ah-ha! ' _D_ _id murder most foul'_ ….a double _entendre_. That is very clever!" George explained approvingly. "But why does Mr. Brown have these two puzzles written down?" His wide smile wavered when the detective did not respond, but merely stood still, seemingly mesmerized by the black slate rectangle. "Sir?" George prompted. No answer. He checked his watch in the dim light. "Shouldn't we get going, detective? Since there is nothing more here?" The hairs on the back of his neck bristled: George knew that look on his detective's face.

"What are the names of those missing people you were going on about George?" William asked.

"What?" the constable felt his face flush.

"You mentioned a Mr. Blau?"

"Yes, Richard Blau."

"I believe _blau_ is German for blue. Was there not a Gerald Crane? A Mary Leight? And Claude Shafter?" William's memory ticked off the results of George's most recent outrageous speculations, ones he dismissed just an hour before. "It is too great a coincidence that Mr. Brown created these little puzzles, the solutions to which reference people on your list, don't you agree?"

Gasping in astonishment, George's eyes bugged wide. "Dear Lord!" He jumped off the triple-locked trunk in horror, swiping at the back of his trousers. "You think he is our cannibal and he has shrunken them down and has them trapped in this piece of luggage…? You know, I have heard of head shrinking and…"

"No George, I do _not_ think that," William paused to take a calming breath and put a check on his temper. _George can embroider on a flight of fancy like no other._ He sighed. "Edgar Brown might fit the psychological portrait of a man with unhealthy or evil compulsions. He has demonstrated he is secretive, controlling, and litigious. What I believe is that perhaps we have uncovered a sequential killer and these are his so-called trophies… it explains why he wanted no one to disturb him or dispossess him of these rooms."

"So this _is_ a lair, but instead of a mad genius, just an evil man..." George looked a little green. "But, um, sir… if no bodies, maybe he _did_ eat them?" George asked tentatively, not sure if he wanted to have guessed right or not.

William ignored that. He stared at the vignettes, counting them up in his head. "George, you said you tallied up six missing people, but I see ten vignettes." William pointed them out one by one, then crossed his arms over his chest. "On second thought, what if these vignettes are not trophies, but clues to the identities of the missing people and possibly their whereabouts?"

"What do you mean?"

William gestured to the locked trunk and its ominous message. "The puzzles are not finished. It is as if they were created as a message for someone. Do you suppose…" William walked over to one of the tables and examined the apparatus there from several angles. With a shrug, he pulled on a rope, expecting to set off a series of items moving, pushing, and falling like dominoes, until the effects of mass, motion and gravity came to an enlightening conclusion.

Instead, George saw a small baseball bat swing down from the wall and knock the detective out cold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Oh my God!" George rushed over to the detective, getting on his knees to assess the damage just as Henry entered the room.

"Oh, there you are…." Henry's annoyed voice changed immediately to alarm. "What happened to Detective Murdoch?"

Blood was everywhere, spoiling the detective's immaculate suit. "As you can see he was hit on the head."

"Not again…Doctor Ogden is going to kill him! _And us!_ " Henry offered his handkerchief to staunch some of the blood.

George did not disagree with Henry's observation, and he was already trying to figure out what excuse he was going to give the good doctor for being right there and not be able to prevent it. He just knew a blistering dressing down might be in his future.

 _Still, it will not be as bad as Julia Ogden is going to deliver to her husband_ , George predicted.

"Never mind about that now. I think the detective ran afoul of one of those infernal booby-traps in this building. Mr. Brown is _definitely_ our perpetrator, Henry, and we need to locate him right quick." George pressed cloth against the detective's skull, trying in vain to rouse the unconscious man. "What are you doing back in here, anyway?"

"Dr. Ogden sent word from the morgue, and I volunteered to find Detective Murdoch and give him the message. Mr. Cobb made me promise to bring the two of you outside; he wants to set off the explosives at nine forty-five and it is just after nine o'clock now. We have to get you and the detective safely away." Henry and George pulled their superior upright, struggling to get a grip on the limp form.

"Henry, we will need extra hands to get Detective Murdoch to street level and medical attention. Go fetch more constables."

"I can't. The fire marshal will not allow it. It is up to us." Henry was not at all comfortable being in the building, knowing about the possible traps, not to mention the explosives ready to go off in a building that was structurally unsound. Truthfully, he only came looking for George and the detective because Mr. Cobb refused to let anyone else enter, and Henry was the only one present who'd been guided through before. Henry's loyalty overcame his better judgment (and in his estimation, healthy fear) so here he was, in an unsafe building, hoping to live long enough to get married to his lovely fiancée. Henry took the feet while George the shoulders, so between them the unconscious detective was unceremoniously hauled to the street and over to an ambulance which has already been stationed for safety's sake.

Misters Cobb, Fordhook, and Longmeadow accosted Henry and George as soon as the ambulance took off. "What did I tell you?" Mr. Fordhook thundered. "Brown is the trouble maker. Arrest him!"

"Yes, sir. We plan to as soon as we can locate him. But there is more evidence that needs to be gathered." George turned to reenter the building.

"Nay! I canna allow that." Mr. Cobb tried to bar George's way. "The plan called for having one last inspection of the wiring at nine then connect up to the detonators. Me' men are goin' t' clear traffic when that is done. The last trolley through will be at nine forty-three. We have to complete the explosions at 9:45 sharp so that we can clear the dust and rubble for the next trolley coming through at 10:00…and we are running late!"

"That building will come down, on time, constable, if I have to push the button myself!" Mr. Fordhook exclaimed, crowding George and Henry with his height and high hat, trying to intimidate. "We will not hold it up for you."

Mr. Longmeadow was milder, but also firm. "I am sorry constable, but we cannot delay. Mr. Brown cornered us into this schedule and it will go forward no matter what."

George was torn. It did seem that Edgar Brown was after maximal distraction and barriers to sabotage the destruction of this building, but the idea he also might be a sequential killer, or have clues to the whereabouts of missing people was too monstrous to ignore.

"Gentlemen, I understand your time table. Mr. Cobb, may I compare my watch to yours?" George made a small adjustment to his timepiece. "I will be out of the building and on the street by nine forty."

Cobbs scowled. "I will have the fire wagon alarm sound out loud two minutes before we blow her, so make sure you mind that."

Taking his helmet off, George turned again to reenter the building. In a few steps, he heard Henry run up behind him. "You don't have to do this," he told his friend, "but the detective and I have come upon a mystery to solve that might reveal the fate of six, or maybe ten, of those missing people I told you about earlier. Detective Murdoch thinks they might be alive."

Henry smirked. "So, not dead and turned into mummies or eaten by cannibals?"

George sighed. "Apparently not, but I am holding out all the options. Mr. Brown has a series of puzzles in his rooms, Henry, you saw all those contraptions down there. The detective and I discovered they reference three of the people on my list."

"And the detective's injury?"

"One of the booby-traps, I assume..." George wrenched the door open and started down the stairs. "I will have to figure out the riddle of it myself…It was a children's baseball bat I think..."

"No George, not baseball…wrong game." Henry snicked his teeth in disapproval, before hesitating at the threshold. "That Rounder must have really been weighted to knock detective Murdoch over."

"A what?"

"It is a bat for the British ball game called Rounder, played much earlier than the New York or Massachusetts baseball. At the Club, of course, when we are not playing Cricket, we play Rounder and not that _gauche_ American version…" Henry shrugged and decided to follow George the dark lower floor and into Edgar Brown's rooms.

George snapped his head around. "Henry? Did you say it was something called a 'Rounder' that knocked the detective out?"

"Y…yes…"

"That just confirms it! Four people from my list of missing persons are somehow connected to Mr. Brown. Ephignia Rounds is number five." George was immediately excited, dragging the other constable into Brown's rooms by the sleeve. "Henry, we have less than an hour to get to the bottom of this mystery. Look at this steamer trunk and its message. What if we have to solve these puzzles, come up with three keys and open this trunk to save everyone? There are five more names to go!"

"And less than forty minutes, closer to thirty," reminded Henry.

"You take that room and I will work in here, but be careful of traps," George ordered. "By the way, what is it that you came to tell the detective? You might as well tell me."

"Dr. Ogden thinks the victim we found was killed elsewhere and much earlier, maybe even a couple days ago. She also found what looks like a prison tattoo. I already have Burke looking into gathering a list of men recently released from the Don Jail and Kingston prison; based on her observations, Dr. Ogden thinks the victim might have been an inmate." Henry's eye was drawn to a glint of metal on the floor. He picked up what turned out to be a key. "Hey, George. Is this what you are looking for? It seems to have come from the device that detective Murdoch was standing in front of."

Henry handed the key over to George who immediately tried it in each of the trunk's three locks until one opened. "That's _it_ , Henry" he exclaimed. "We have to solve these riddles, and get two more keys to get inside this trunk. Look for anything about Joshua Herkimer or Arnold Ferris; that will make the six I knew about before. Detective Murdoch thinks there are more names after that because there are ten clues here."

George dashed off while Henry turned his attention to the chalkboard. He saw one side was completed, so he moved the other side of the slate into better light **.** It appeared to be something like a child's line drawing. None of it made any sense so he came back to the trunk and re-read the warning. "Why not just break the locks?" he called over.

" _Because_ , Henry! It is likely to be some sort of trap as well. The message will be etched on a piece of glass which will shatter into a million pieces, or on paper that will dissolve in acid, or even trigger an explosion. The dire warning is plain: we can't risk it." George focused his attention on a display cabinet, inside of which was a jumble of items attached to the back wall. On the very far right, a key hung on a hook. He was tempted to break the glass until he saw the small bottles with skull and crossbones on them. _Poison,_ he figured. _But how to get the key from one side to the other if I can't get into the case?_ He searched the entire outside, even pulling the whole thing away from the wall, until he found a small panel in the back which operated a tiny turn table.

"Henry, come look at this. I found another key, but I can't get to it."

"Excellent, George. All I found was a completed word puzzle and a pile of iron shavings spread in a circle with a magnet to move them around. No idea what either of them means." Both constables knew that time was short. "What would detective Murdoch do?" Henry wondered.

George exhaled sharply. "You know how he is, Henry! He'd take some special tool out of one of his jacket pockets to examine the evidence. He'd create some wonderful invention to solve the case. He'd stare at the chalk board until his big brain'd give him an answer." George scrubbed his face in frustration. "Point is…Detective Murdoch would take a lot of _time_ , something we do not have!" George stared at the cabinet and that key; something Henry has said niggled at the back of his brain. "You found a magnet? Let me see it."

Taking the magnet, George went to the back of the cabinet to where he calculated the key was. "Henry, if I can use this magnet to move this key over to that slot on the other side, we can risk a little of the poison gas escaping to get the key out. You will have to guide me. Tell me if I get the key dislodged." George moved the magnet of the back of the thin-walled cabinet, until Henry yelped.

"That's it. Ok, you are right on it."

"So, Henry, guide me through the obstacles. Tell me if I go up, down, right or left and how many inches."

"Right. George go three inches up…Good. Now six inches to the right…No, no…you almost dropped it! My right, your left." Henry was starting to sweat. Inch by inch he guided George down, over, then up in a horseshoe shape, then over and down again sharply and a right angle to the bottom right corner of the cabinet, diagonal from where they started. "You have it George, almost there. Just a little more, little more….Yes!"

They heard a small 'clink' as the key dropped onto the turn table. "What do you think, Henry, shall I turn it now?"

"Hold your breath, George then get away as fast as you can." Henry watched as the key moved then disappeared. "Do you have it?"

"Indeed I do!" George came out from behind the cabinet triumphantly, waving it above his head. Nodding to each other, George fitted the key into the center lock on the trunk and opened it. "That was amazing, Henry, just amazing."

Henry agreed, wiping his brow and laughing in relief. "I could swear it also spelled out the letters "U" and "L" as it was dragged along, but nothing on Mr. Herkimer or Mr. Ferris. What now?"

The tension they each felt was fierce. George checked his watch and his stomach dropped. As fast as it felt that he and Henry worked to get the key free, so much time had elapsed. "It is nine thirty eight. We have one more key to find and five names, enough time to…"

" _ **Oy!**_ **Are ye' daft?** _ **Get the Hell out of here!"**_

Both men nearly jumped out of their skins at Inspector Brackenreid's bellow.

George recovered first. "Sir! What are you doing in here?"

"Saving your bloody arse it seems." Thomas looked around, ticked off and bewildered about what shenanigans his men were up to, especially as they were unsupervised by Murdoch.

"Now, you two, stop dawdling. They are about to blow the siren, and someone, name of Cobb, told me two of my constables were still inside. What were you thinking?"

He himself was thinking: _Margaret would never speak to me again if I let Crabtree and Higgins perish so stupidly; she might give me an equally hard time for risking myself in the process._ He shook his head. _Bah! Women!_

Henry defended himself and George. "Sir! Detective Murdoch and George found a mystery, locked in these rooms. Look here at this message written on the trunk. We found two keys so far and have to find the last key so we can open it and not destroy whatever is in it before it's too late."

"' _Open only with keys or the contents will perish.'_ What is that nonsense supposed to mean?"

"We think it is about those people I said were missing, sir. Detective Murdoch thinks there are clues to at least ten individuals here. What if all this is the key to rescuing them?" George pleaded his case.

A siren wail from the street signaled time was up. "Smash it open, Crabtree, if it's so important!"

"No, sir," Henry complained, "the warning…"

"Bugger that! The trunk and whatever is in it will be destroyed one way or the other. This will all be rubble in two minutes, so it will not matter."

George's pained face nearly stopped him, but seizing a length of metal pipe, the inspector chopped down hard on the lock. With four blows it came undone.

George pushed the lid up, letting all three men see what was inside, which appeared to be a lever attached to the bottom of the trunk. With all his might, George pulled the lever up. Nothing happened. He pulled again….still nothing.

"We've got to go. _Now!_ " The inspector was already on the way out the door, ticking down the seconds in his head, hoping he got his arithmetic right…

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"… **Three…**

… **Two…**

… _ **One!**_ **"**

An explosive ripple was muffled due to the building's bulk, then the structure seemed to melt a bit before rapidly falling in on itself, accompanied by cheers from the _hoi polloi_. Inspector Brackenreid was as mesmerized as his two constables by the booming sound and the elegant way the building was brought down without disturbing even a window or a piece of bunting on the rows of storefronts on the opposite side of the street.

George then sat with his head in his hands on the curb, trying to think, or rather _not_ think about what just happened. He felt inadequate, as if he'd let Detective Murdoch down, or worse: did all the clues for solving the disappearances of ten individuals, the victims of a sequential killer, just vanish? Did forcing that trunk open result in some horrid miscarriage of justice? He felt the inspector tap him gently on the leg with his walking stick.

"Don't feel so bad, Crabtree, you did your best. Now, get back on your feet and do your duty. Go find this Edgar Brown so we can figure out exactly what he has been up to, besides wreaking havoc."

"Aye, sir." George pulled himself up. "Detective Murdoch thought Mr. Brown might be quite mad, but not very clever. Discovering all those clues and in the amount of time we had was a long shot, wasn't it? It was just another terrible waste of time; and after all that it amounted to nothing and he is probably gone."

"Maybe," the Inspector nodded, turning his back on the crowd in an exaggeratedly casual manner. "But maybe he's wanting to stay around and see all the fun. Higgins? You got a description of Mr. Brown, didn't you? Well, why don't you and Crabtree see if you can find our suspect, discreetly, without him rabbiting. The trolley is going to start up soon."

George and Henry brushed dust off their uniforms, deciding to circle the crowd and scan faces. They had made it to the last row of people behind the rope, when a disturbance pushed itself through from a storefront directly across the street from the now-leveled building. Gasps and cries for help propagated like a wave, propelling the two men out of their circumscribed stalking of the mad Edgar Brown, to find out what the hub-bub was.

There, on the side walk, were several people coming up from one of the coal delivery hatches in the pavement, blinking as they hit daylight. One distraught-looking man went right for the rope, pushed underneath it and headed directly for the landau carriage containing Mr. Fordhook and Mr. Longmeadow.

He recognized that man was not Edgar Brown, but George tried to stop him anyway, in case the man was deranged enough to assault the businessmen or get himself mowed down by the trolley. George just caught up with him when Mr. Longmeadow stood in the carriage, clearly alarmed.

"That's my brother, Ulrick! What is going on? Where have you been?" Angus Longmeadow exited the carriage in a hurry, leaving a glowering Oliver Fordhook in his wake.

George saw the family resemblance, getting there just as the brothers joined up. Ulrick, disheveled and dusty was explaining: "That bastard, Brown, took me by surprise last night on my way back from the club, bundled me down to the sub-basement under the building and shoved me into a room with eight others. Told me unless you stopped the demolition I'd be killed! He said he left you the message; what took you so long?"

"What _eight_ others? Why did he do that?" George interrupted the reunion; he _had_ to know. "And how did you get out?"

"I don't know how, but when that siren sounded, we all just started to pray, thinking we were gonners. Then a door just opened, like magic, like a miracle, and off we were down the tunnel, in the dark, until we found an access hatch. The dust and smoke nearly suffocated us."

"Good God!" Angus embraced his brother. "Miraculous indeed."

George was stunned, going from despair to prideful disbelief. _Did I save their lives?_ "Mr. Longmeadow, why did Mr. Brown say he did it?"

Ulrick Longmeadow's face showed the outrage and bewilderment he felt: "Brown said it was revenge, plain and simple. He said we were all tied, one way or the other, to the death of his brother!"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	4. Chapter 4

**Epilogue**

"So, Crabtree! You are the newest public hero in Toronto, credited with saving the lives of nine people, with, and I can't believe I am saying this, your partner here, Henry Higgins." Inspector Brackenreid's _bonhomie_ was at full volume as he read from the morning _Gazette:_ **"** _ **Constables' Courage Unlocks Mystery**_ **."**

Brackenreid was holding court in the stationhouse: George Crabtree and Henry Higgins the center of attention, with Dr. Ogden and Detective Murdoch in the audience of fellow officers.

"They even have our pictures!" Henry's puffed out chest was almost comical, "Ruth is buying out the newsstand, she is so proud of me…" and Henry's grin was non-stop: "Even though a gentleman should not necessarily appear in the papers…"

Brackenreid winked jovially to his detective. "Pushed Murdoch here right off the front page."

George flushed, feeling embarrassed. "It was dumb luck, sir. Besides, Detective Murdoch was the one who understood the whole thing was a message that needed decoding." George was still reeling from the events and accepting congratulations, feeling modest about his accomplishment. "I ran out of time. It was the inspector who unlocked the case…um, trunk, literally..."

"Nonsense, George," Julia Ogden disagreed. "You were the one who first noticed the pattern, then you made all the connections and you stayed with it, you and Henry, after the detective had to, temporarily, bow out." She said this as lightly as she could, in just that way she knew her husband would appreciate her true message.

William smiled reflexively. Yesterday, he'd woken up in the ambulance and refused the embarrassment of going on to the hospital. When he'd asked to be taken to the morgue instead, the attendant had been sure that meant William was confused due to the blow on his head so the young man had gone to great lengths to reassure him he was still alive… until he'd told them who his wife was. He tried to keep a blank face while hearing the tinge of continued displeasure in his wife's voice; she had not been happy about another concussion, (nor spared him her opinion), lecturing about it being a good thing he had some extra brain matter or a measure of intelligence to spare. Julia had tended to his wound then sent him on his way, but instead of home where she ordered him, he'd gone over to the station house and changed his suit, just in time for Edgar Brown to announce himself to the desk sergeant.

Today, William's head was pounding and he still felt a little fuzzy, but he was not going to admit to any of that. "George, Henry, you deserve all the praise."

"That you do, me ol' mucker. Might even get the powers that be to reconsider your situation, Crabtree, consider your promotion again. What I don't understand is why the bastard turned himself in."

William crossed his arms over his chest to give the answer. "Edgar Brown arranged all of that to protest the execution of his brother, Abraham, for murder, up in Kingston. The hanging was scheduled for exactly 9:45 yesterday morning, the same time as the demolition. When the button for the explosives was pushed, it coincided with the execution lever being pulled, putting his brother to death. Mr. Brown told me he intended to exact his revenge, making it impossible for his victims to be rescued, while imposing the maximum amount of pain and guilt in the process."

"You say he set the whole thing up, including putting the missing person reports in the personals?" George was bothered by that for some reason.

"Indeed," William had been taken aback by the story Brown delivered, the man continuing to believe his actions were justified. "His whole plan was for the families of his victims to feel the pain he felt. He was angry at what he thought was a haphazard investigation and factors he believed drove his brother to a lethal situation. He picked the ten people he believed were most responsible for his brother Abraham's conviction and death sentence: witnesses, jury foreman, his brother's ex-fiancée, etcetera, then he found someone close to them to target and kidnap. He brought them in from the building across the street through the underground tunnel. It was Mr. Angus Longmeadow whose firm terminated his brother's employment, which, in Edgar's view, started Abraham's downward spiral. He held the Longmeadow brothers as most responsible, hence his lawsuit and the supposed clues he left for Angus Longmeadow to find. Brown expected Mr. Longmeadow to have come into Brown's rooms and seen all the clues, try to follow them, then eventually, tragically come to understand how enraging it feels to lose a brother."

"Brown's own brother was convicted on strong evidence, and lost all his appeals," Brackenreid pointed out.

"In my professional opinion Mr. Edgar Brown is quite delusional. He has no remorse," Julia added, having been called in to observe the interrogation. "I am not certain if he was always mentally unbalanced, but anticipating the loss of his brother sent him on his own obsessive, paranoid, downward spiral. When he was prevented from getting his revenge, he apparently decided that he'd get to use the papers and the courts to continue his grievances about our judicial system."

"Despite killing one of his brother's cell mates who snitched on him, leaving his body in the building with his face smashed in as his first clue…. if he's crazy enough, as you say, doctor, he might escape the noose himself." Brackenreid's quip got the rest of them nodding.

George was still doubtful. "But why go to such elaborate lengths? Why make it so utterly confounding?"

William sighed. "That was the whole point. It is why he created those little vignettes of clues for each of his victims, the word puzzles, the chemical reaction, tracing what we now know were Ulrick Longmeadow's initials with the key and the magnet, for instance."

Henry spoke up. "So, you say those iron filings were for Mr. Ferris, which I understand now, but that line drawing was for Mr. Herkimer? How is that?"

"A double-terminated quartz crystal is known as a 'Herkimer Diamond,'" William answered. He went on to explain each of the other clues as Brown had conceived them.

"That is why he arranged for the final, terrible irony, George: pulling that lever, just like the one which opened the trap door under his brother's feet, was supposed to seal the victims' fates. When you pulled a second time, it unlocked instead, freeing those people. It wasn't supposed to do that." William frowned, hoping he was not taking any glory away from the constables or the constabulary. He was going to make sure that bit of information did not get into the papers any time soon, and Edgar Brown was in handcuffs and in isolation not merely for his own safety, (as Julia believed he might be a suicide risk), but to keep reporters away.

Brackenreid shook his head disgustedly. "So…leaving us a body to find started the whole investigation; discovery of Brown's rooms with the clues in them, and a short time-table that pretty much guaranteed no one would be able to solve it before the whole building blew up. The man _is_ crackers, diabolical, but crackers!"

"Perhaps…" William was not convinced. "Edgar Brown counted on one of two things: someone would try and figure out the clues, which would make that person feel like failure when they ran out of time, or someone would come along and just smash the locks in impatience, which would then make that person collude in killing the victims. He set up a no-win situation. Fortunately, the three of you gentlemen saved the day!" William said, gesturing to George, Henry and the Inspector.

William was very pleased about the safety of nine innocent victims. What bothered him, privately, was that he _was_ certain he himself would have diligently tried to solve the clues and run out if time. _He_ would not have opted to break the locks open and knowing that gave him some pause.

Brackenreid folded the newspaper and took his spectacles off. "Enough of basking in glory for you. Back to work, all of you!"

The group broke up, with Henry and George taking up their usual positions in seats facing each other. Henry whispered across the desk. "That was both scary and exciting yesterday. I'm not sure I could take another day like that."

George thought about it for a while. "Indeed, it was a little too real…but…" His eyes got big and round and a crooked grin formed on his lips. "I think it would make an excellent game. What if you had a room with clues and only, say, an hour to solve the mystery? You could have a team of players who enjoy puzzles and their job is to figure out a problem, or perhaps escape the room… I think people would pay good money for an experience like that…!"

"A capital idea, George. Quite…superlative," Henry made eye contact with his partner, the corner of his mouth lifting in challenge.

George smiled back, ready for the game. "Splendiferous…"

"…Incandescent…"

"…Effulgent…"

" _ **Bloody Hell!**_ _Shut it, you two," Brackenreid bellowed. "And back to work!"_

 **-END-**

 **Dear Reader: I hope you liked this little bit of fluff (even if it is not a 'Jilliam' story.) Reviews are welcome (or just "Follow" as a way to "Like" it if you are shy about writing.) Writing and reviewing encourage all of us who write, to continue producing the mindless entertainment that MMFF is…**

 **A/N:**

For those in the know, the main inspiration for this one is the Murdoch Mystery Escape Room, _"The Secret of Station House No. 4."_ I had the pleasure of doing it in Toronto with three other lovely ladies (instead of the usual 12-person team) and despite that, we did not do too terribly bad. We ran out of time and needed lots and lots of hints, but it was way fun. I did however immediately think that Brackenreid would have thought the whole thing too precious and just break the locks off (with an axe or maybe shoot them off). I have used the premise, the trunk with three locks, but only given one clue away, because it thought it was terribly clever, and I cannot take credit for it (but I won't tell you because we hope the Escape Room will continue and not close—if you haven't gone, please do, it is great fun!) Thank you Lovemondays & J for doing it with me! The second inspiration was a little line by George about improving his vocabulary.

I got a great beta-reads from I'dBeDelighted and "Dutch", and must thank NR for talking the plot through with me as we worked out on the elliptical at the gym. (I get my best ideas when I am working out/walking the stairs for exercise, or in the shower!) Hope you like what I did with the ideas- rg


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